10 Things I Hate About You
by Chaos Infinity
Summary: [COMPLETE] But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you not close, not a little bit, not even at all. Tonks' take on the poem from the movie of the same name, her PoV.
1. Words and Broomsticks

**A/N: **I did not write the poem. I am not in any way associated with the movie. I have nothing to do with the production process of HP. If you are a lawyer representing any of these factions.. /waves pendant/.. you are not seeing any of this. There is nothing here. Click the red X on your browser window and never come here again.**

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**10 Things I Hate About You**

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair;  
I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.  
I hate your big dumb combat boots,  
And the way you read my mind.  
I hate you so much it makes me sick;  
It even makes me rhyme.  
I hate the way you're always right,  
I hate it when you lie,  
I hate it when you make me laugh;  
Even worse when you make me cry.  
I hate it that you're not around,  
And the fact that you didn't call.  
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you;  
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

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**_I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair_**

* * *

"Good evening, Nymphadora." My stomach muscles stiffen so much it's like having a cramp. I knew the exact second when he had exited the kitchen, counted the moments it would take him to travel from there to here through the hall. Yet still, prepared as I was, just hearing his voice made me tremble. He's here, looking at me, waiting for an answer. So what choice do I have but to reply? I sigh inwardly as I do. I could hear the smile in his voice, the smile I know I will return as I turn and look at his face.

"Wotcher, Wolfie." Just like nobody else calls me Nymphadora every night and lives, I'm the only one who can call him Wolfie and walk away unscathed (mentally, anyway – I can't really imagine him taking a swing at anyone). Except maybe Sirius. But that's all in the past now… Must not think of Sirius, or I'll flood the house again. We share a grin, and the tightness in my stomach suddenly explodes into butterflies. They bump my heart and make it beat faster, erratic and out of control. I think I preferred the stomach cramp, in all honesty. At least it didn't make my face the same shade as my bubblegum hair.

Remus strolled over and sat next to me on an old, plushy couch. Picking up the _Prophet_ which lay on the stand, he unfolded it and started moving his eyes over the place he left off earlier. I say, "moving his eyes", because that's what he's doing. I know the difference. It's not that I'm incredibly smart or anything, it's just that I'm the only one who has spent hours studying his face each evening we're together. Did I just admit that to myself? No, I don't watch him… Really…

All right, so maybe I do. But who wouldn't? Ok, everybody else. But that doesn't count. They've just all managed to miss his sensitive mouth, his light brown, green-flecked eyes, the way his scars shine under the light, the way the lines on his face smooth out when he's reading something involving, and the way his hair tumbles down into his eyes until he brushes it back with an impatient wave of the hand. And why hasn't anybody noticed? Because he was meant for me. Regrettably, he thinks differently. But I'll just have to change that.

I've longed to do that for him, you know. Dreamed of a day when I could sit in his lap and brush his hair back for him. But he would never let me. And I hate him for that. I hate him for denying my pleasure, our pleasure. So I pout, and he looks at me like I've just sprouted horns. He keeps staring at that place where the spikes of my hair have been replaced by… Oh, Merlin. I feel my head. I _have_ sprouted little devil horns. He laughs, and I wonder if I've suddenly sprouted a dragon tail as well. Best not to check.

_**

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I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.

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**_

"Tonks? Come on." No way, Charlie. I shake my head groggily. I yawn. After 7 hours of work at the Ministry and a just finished night shift, there is no way I am playing Quidditch with Charlie. Besides, what's he doing up at… I check my watch. 6am? This is not the snoozing bear I remember. Maybe he hasn't adjusted for the time difference between England and Romania yet.

But there is somebody who's always up early. Somebody who can't sleep, and won't let me hel- Never mind. Anyway, that somebody pokes his head around the kitchen door as I trip over Charlie's makeshift Quaffle-ball-thing and bang into the wall and bounce off it gracelessly. Ow. There's now a new bruise on my thigh on top of the old one. Damn the stupid side table.

"All right, Dora?" Remus asks. I nod. Charlie laughs at me. I poke my tongue at him. My tongue's normal, except for the yellow and blue stripes running over it. He looks at it in amazement. Remus is now the one who's laughing. Though he stared too, the first time. Why is it that I can have multicolored hair, eyebrows and eyes without raising any eyebrows, but the moment I put color in my skin everyone looks at me like that?

It's not that bad, really. Staring, I mean. I get it a lot, but so does every other woman who has blue and green hair with red eyebrows and blue eyes, or even just pink hair with dark eyes and matching eyebrows. Except when he does it. His eyes are such a light brown they're almost like molten gold, and the moss green flecks in it which reflect the light. When I feel those eyes boring into me, it's like they're looking into my soul. I shudder to think what he might find in there. I'm impure, and I know that… It was always all right before, but somehow… I don't want to be anything less than perfect for him.

Now Charlie's appealing to him. I try to suppress laughter, but it comes out anyway as an unladylike, amused snort as I try to imagine Remus on a broom. Seems like he's imperfect somewhere, too, judging by the look of horror. But the little peek my imagination has tempted me with isn't enough. Surprising him, I join Charlie's arguments. He'll love the fresh air. It's great exercise. He'll have fun.

They don't seem to work, so it's up to me. Charlie owes me for this. I step forward, trying to drill a hole through his mind with my eyes, the way his do to mine. Catching hold of his waving hands, I squeeze them and look up at him with my best impression of puppy eyes. "For me? Pleeeease?" It's working. He looks down at me, his resolve fading after meeting my eyes. I change their color as fast as I can, again and again, just because I can. Well, ok. I'll be honest. Because he's looking at them. Into them. He sighs. I smile. He sighs again. I giggle. He glares. I pout. He gives in. On one condition…

"What? Oh… I suppose." I sigh as I agree. Seeing him fly had better be fun. Scrunching my nose, I imagine a pair of floppy puppy ears on top of my violet, spiked hair. And from the looks on their faces and the new warm weight on my head, I know they're there. _Puppy ears to match my puppy eyes_… I turn around to face Charlie again, and he works furiously to keep his face straight. It doesn't work. I swing my fist at him.

Suddenly, the smell of earth and chocolate and books and something so Remus-y invades my nose. It had been there before, in the background, but now it was magnified a hundred times as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back from Charlie. Looking up into his almost-gold eyes was heaven. Until Charlie laughed. When my fist heads towards his jaw again, the arms around my waist tighten and I'm dragged backwards slightly.

I might be a bit below average in terms of weight, but even my bear of a father has trouble restraining me when I have a mind to be free. Remus is long and lanky, and though not quite scrawny, could definitely use a bit of weight. So how is it that he could pull me back? Maybe it's because when he does, I nestle closer to him. Maybe.

"Are we going to play or not?" Charlie's grown bored of the lengthening seconds as I try to give Remus subtle looks. Which he duly ignores, as I expected. Oh well. Nobody gets between me and what I want. In the end, I'll win. But now, it's time to see the wolf on a broomstick, so I follow them out into the garden.

We're standing on the grass before we realize the problem. Charlie is the one who vocalizes it, though. "You don't have a broom, Remus." You don't say. Trust him to state the obvious. Remus is looking shiftily towards the back door. No such luck, wolfie. I don't grow puppy ears for nothing. "It's all right," I say to the crestfallen Charlie and he brightens, "my broom should still be here. Though I used it last so long ago that it may just have fallen apart by now." I get the response I expected.

"No, no, that's fine. I can fix up a broom as easy as that." He snaps his oversized, blistered fingers. Remus looks a little deflated. I bet he had thought we didn't have another broom lying around. Sly wolfie. Grinning, I run back inside and up the stairs to my room. By some miracle, I don't trip, even though my elephantine footsteps have probably woken up everybody. After a short hunt, I find the dilapidated Comet Two-Sixty in the back of my wardrobe under a pair of patched jeans, a lilac and orange T-shirt and a cloak.

Can I be bothered going all the way down again? Nah… Besides, in return for the accident-free going up, I'll probably break my neck on the way down. After some wrangling, the window opens, creaking its protest loudly at me. The broom just fits in the small gap I've managed, and sails down gracefully to the grass. Or that was the plan, anyway. Instead, as I wave my wand to send it down, my arm catches on the floor lamp beside my bed and knocks it over. Jerking my hand back reflexively, it tangles in the lacy curtain. The broom mimics my wand's movements faithfully.

Remus and Charlie stare openmouthed at the wildly spinning broom and my flailing arms. It ends when I fall over onto the bed and the wand flies out of my grasp. The broom abandons its gravity defying acrobatic feats, and lands with a dull thud on the grass. I stand again. Let the fun begin.


	2. Me and My Poem

**A/N: **I don't own the poem, movie, book blah blah blah... Same as last time. Thanks to everyone who read the last, of course I'll keep writing

**Loonie Potter** - I hope two days is quickly enough ;) But I've been sooo busy... And it's still the holidays, lol. Must be pretty cool living next to a famous school!

**FetishFemale** - Here's the next instalment on the way to finishdom! Hope you like this one as much. Not as fluffy as the last, quite serious actually.

**SeekerGirl17** - Thanks, I'm glad you find it funny. One of an author's worst nightmares is to write a Humour piece which nobody finds funny.

**Loz** - Wow... I think this story's getting popular, lol. Glad you liked.

**Moonbugg** - Thanks so much for your comments, I hope you like this instalment. It's actually slightly heavier than the last, but this story starts just a bit after Sirius fell through the veil so they're all a bit gloomy, Tonks included.

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I hate your big dumb combat boots,  
And the way you read my mind.

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I let myself into 12 Grimmauld, after finally getting the hang of the numerous spells that guard the front door. It's almost time for the meeting, and for once I've arrived early rather than late. When the door swings open, I quickly step inside, turn and close it again. The hallway is gloomy, as always. Could I blame the lack of lighting fixtures for tripping again on that bloody umbrella stand? Probably not, since after all those falls I know full well exactly where the stupid thing is.

For a few moments, I lie on the floor, temporarily stunned. Everything was going so great today… I hadn't tripped once at the office, not even once. And I was so sure that this was going to be my record-breaking day with only a single coffee spill. As I let out an aggrieved sigh, a pair of feet step into my field of vision. He's barefoot inside those slippers, and I have an urge to pounce on them. Looking up, I meet his amused almost-gold eyes. He'd stopped worrying about the physical damage I suffer from tripping after he witnessed the 20somethingth time.

Taking his outstretched hand, I pull myself up with as much dignity as I could muster. Which is kind of hard, since my cloak has billowed open to reveal a neon orange tank top and old, ratty, tasseled jeans. Remus doesn't remark on the clothing except for a small twitch in his mouth. I take that for his approval and we wander into the kitchen. Holding onto his hand felt so natural that it was only when we were in the kitchen and Molly looked at us that I realized I hadn't let go. Wishing that my morphing skills could somehow cover up blushes, I drop his hand and dump myself into a chair.

Tutting to herself, Molly turns back to the stove. I think her disapproval was for my dropping his hand rather than holding it. I hope so… Maybe I should… y'know… tell her about this… thing… She would understand. Mmm. Looking up, I see that Remus has sat himself opposite me. He's looking at Molly too, but now he's turning to me again.

"Nice day at work?" The butterflies are here again. I look at him petulantly, and he goes on just as I open my mouth. "Obviously not then. What was it – paperwork or cleaning your cubicle?" Mmm. Does this count as knowing me? Probably not. Anybody who's heard me whining in the last two weeks knows that those are the only two things I get to do.

"Both, as a matter of fact." My voice is, thankfully, normal. Molly pointedly ignores us. I wonder if Remus has noticed this. He nods understandingly, and I have an urge to pounce on him again. "But Kingsley said he'd look around for me, so hopefully…" My voice trails off in a hopeful kind of way.

"That's nice of him. You know, he's very fond of you…" His voice trails off in a suggestive kind of way. It took a moment for it to click. When it does, I lunge across the table, my hands reaching for his shoulders. He obviously anticipated this, as he neatly leaned to the side, letting me tumble over the (luckily empty) table.

Fuming, I stand and prepare to launch a full scale tickle fight against him. There is only one thing that will save his skin now, and… my mouth drops open. It looks like he really does know me… One of his hands is held up in surrender, and the other is holding a large bar of Honeydukes chocolate. I'm about to take the chocolate and return gracefully to my chair again, when my eyes just happen to flick to his face. So, instead…

I take the chocolate. I put it on the table. I throw myself at Remus Lupin, and his yelp of surprise turns my scowl into a grin. His arms are pressed into his sides, and I know he'll keep them there if it's the last thing he does. But I also know happen to know him pretty well…

Our hands reach his knees at the same time. How on earth did he work that one out? Quickly, I reach for his sides. His arms are there first. I vocalize my frustration, and he smirks. All right, he asked for it. Last time, he knew what I was doing and quickly pushed his chair back. This time, he has no warning and I throw my full, considerable considering my size weight onto him, intent on taking the thin, graying professor with a tea addiction onto the floor with me.

It works, and my grin returns. Remus is pinned down beneath me, looking like he's just witnessed Voldemort dancing ballet in a pink tutu. Didn't read my mind that time, did you wolfie? Then we realise, at the same time, that Molly is watching us with an open mouth.

_

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I hate you so much it makes me sick;  
It even makes me rhyme.

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Nighttime at 12 Grimmauld is a fairly quiet event. We have order meetings, we have dinner, then we just all sit around in the lounge and… well… lounge. No, that's not too accurate a description for everyone. I lounge. That's better. If Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are here (and they are), they're usually sitting together on an old sofa. It faces the couch I sprawl inelegantly on. In between, there are two recliners. Remus sits in one. In some moments of overwhelming nostalgia, I can see the shadow of where Sirius would spend his days, brooding and staring into the fire the recliners face.

Sirius was usually the reason for the uneasy tension in the living room. He is not here now. If he was alive, even hiding out in some cave and living on rats, we would be sharing lighthearted banter in his absence. But he's not here because Padfoot has departed in a way which none of us ever expected. Sirius was just… so… Sirius. It's hard to explain. Because of 12 years in Azkaban, I had never seen him in my teenage years, but after just a year together his persona had imprinted itself firmly into my mind. And now… I realise that I miss him, so much.

Even if my cousin never smiled, he did everything he could to help us. When he was in a good mood, that is. But we had just gotten so accustomed to seeing him around, prowling the hallways or sulking with Buckbeak, that the house seems so empty without him. I had thought it devoid of life before, but now… The silence is so thick, so dense. Maybe that's why I crave Remus' company. He makes me smile, even as I make him smile, and for a moment I can forget that this house belongs to a boy with a destiny like no other, and it belonged to a man who has been torn away from us.

Everyone has been through this so many times with me. Survivor's guilt. Nothing I could have done. But there was. I'm no Seer, but even I understand that if one thing is changed in the past, the future will be so much different. What would have happened if I didn't get hit by that particular spell? What if I had hung on for a second longer? Maybe Kingsley would have taken on Bellatrix instead of Sirius, and maybe he wouldn't have fallen through that arch. Maybe Dumbledore would have appeared right there and then, and saved Sirius. Or maybe if I hadn't been hit, I would have won that fight and maybe that stupid stinking snot Bellatrix would have been the one to fall through.

I only realise that I've been staring at Sirius' chair when the prickle in my eyes floods over and a warm Remus sits down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. "For the millionth time, Nymphadora, it wasn't your fault." Resisting the urge to let out a wail, I sniffle. He pats my head in an awkward kind of way. I guess he isn't used to having a 25 year old, clumsy metamorphmagus turn into a human hosepipe in his arms.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, because if my voice had been any louder I would have choked. He holds me a bit closer, and I take this as an invitation to lean my head against his chest. He doesn't object, but stops patting my head and tucks the shoulder length red hair behind my ear. "There's nothing to be sorry for, it's not your fault." His voice is calm, but it sounds tired. I get another urge to wail. Is he tired of me? Is he tired of being the kind, comforting one while I blubber away? Is he tired of this scene which, like a broken record, has come again and again?

I remember the first night this happened. Dinner had finished, and we were all in the lounge. We, meaning Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Kingsley, Emmeline Vance and of course Remus. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley decided to stay at No. 12 so they would be in London and closer to the things happening and keep Remus company. With a jolt, I realized that this meant Remus spent most of his time alone, holed up in this horrible house. And so I offered to stay as well. Surprised and pleased, Remus had smiled at me. I think it was then that I realized I stayed, perhaps, not so much for his sake as… well… mine.

After everybody had left, it was the four of us, sitting around the lounge and trying to make small talk. Actually, it was mostly me talking, with occasional interludes where Molly and I would discuss things, and occasional comments by Remus. He was also holding a book, and I wondered whether he was able to follow a conversation and read simultaneously or whether he was actually listening to my blathering and pretending to read. Arthur had mostly just been listening with a confused face. I think the speed of my sentences may have been a little much for him. Either that or he was just surprised at how much one could say about clothing and kneazles (I'd been considering getting a pet kneazle, FYI).

Eventually, though, my words pattered out into silence as I ran out of stuff to say. The silence was almost comfortable. Really, it was. Except for the pronounced emptiness where a dark, brooding man used to sit. My thoughts ran pretty much as they did above, and ended in the same way too. Remus came to sit with me, and under his reassuring arm the tears went away. He sent me upstairs for "a much needed early night", but I sat on my bed when I got there, fully dressed, for half an hour.

I don't know what made me do what I did, but when I realized there was nothing worth looking at on the wall, I took out my book and flipped through the pages full of photos, clippings and other random things until I reached a blank page. Obviously, the poem was mopey and bad and really pathetic. But it was the first one I'd written for a long time… And it was the first one I'd ever written that actually rhymed properly.

Every few nights I would remember Sirius, and they always happened this way. Every time it happened and he sent me up to bed, I would add a new verse to my poem. It always happens the same way, which brings me to where I was before. Is Remus sick of these repeating episodes? My eyes darken noticeably, but I resist the unconscious urge to frown.

Remus takes his arm off my shoulders and pats me on the back. "Go on, time for bed. You could use some sleep now." His voice still caries that tired streak… A streak of gray in his voice reflected by the ones in his hair. I suddenly know what tonight's verse is going to be. "Night, Remus." I reply, my voice warbling slightly but ok to use now. Reluctantly separating myself from his warm body, I stand up.

"Good night, Nymphadora." That's my cue. I start for the door with slumped shoulders. Molly and Arthur are watching me with sympathetic faces. "Night, Molly, Arthur." I nod to them, hoping they'll take it as a sign that I'm all right. "Have a good sleep, Tonks. Remus is right, you look like you need it." Do I? Maybe. With a strained smile, I force my hair to turn from the black it automatically reverted to during my thoughts of Sirius into a more cheerful violet.

In my room, I take out the book labeled "Tonks' Private Book – do not read or I will hex you" and open it to the poem. Sucking the end of my quill, I wait for the words to come and then add them.

_I know that I should move on, stop this guilt,_

_But I dream of him under these covers of silk;_

_All I hope is that you don't tire of me,_

_Before I am free of these memories._


	3. Right Except When He Lies

**A/N: **Sorry this chapter's a bit short, but I'm getting busy now that our holidays are over and the next ones will probably only be one chunk as well. Usual disclaimers, blah blah blah.

**Nimrithiel** - Thank you, lol. The poetry is not "mine", strictly speaking. I don't write poetry like that.

**anony** - I have! Here's the 3rd chapter!

**FetishFemale** - Thanks for keeping up with the story, one step more is here!

**slightly so** - Your wish is my command. Or, at least, when we both want the same thing.

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__I hate the way you're always right,  
I hate it when you lie,__

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_There's a pain in my back from staying in this cramped position for so long. I shiver to think the state Remus' must be in. Hiding behind a bush isn't exactly my idea of a good time, and hiding behind a bush without moving or making any sounds for an hour is hell. Consoling myself with the thought of a nice, long soak in the tub after we get back only helps so much. Nudging Remus, I put my mouth to his ear and whisper as quietly as I can.

"Do we really have to do this? It doesn't look like there _is_ anyone in there." His eyebrows move into an amused position, and we maneuver with excruciating slowness so he can whisper back into my ear. "Yes, we do. And even if your multicolored eyes can't see anything, my nose is telling me there's something in there." Oh. Of course. That's the thing about Remus – he's got a better chance than Kingsley and I put together of detecting somebody in a rundown house if they're hiding behind the wall.

His description of my eyes brought something else quite differently multicolored to my mind. Suddenly, an image of Remus in his huge wolf form surrounded by multicolored cubs jumping on him popped into my head. I had to clamp my mouth on the nearest thing, which happened to be my knee, to stop myself laughing. It worked rather well, except that I know have a pain in my knee as well as my back. Remus is looking at me rather strangely, and I can't blame him. As a werewolf, he bit himself, but as a human, he did not. And witnessing me doing it was probably quite unexpected.

"Something wrong, Nymph? Did something crawl up there?" With tears of both laughter and aches prickling my eyes, I shook my head slightly and leaned up to talk to him. "Nothing there, but it hurts and so does my back. How much longer do we have to stay here?" His brief look of puzzlement was replaced by a bemused grin. "Nymphadora, I'm the middle-aged werewolf with declining health, you're the young, fit auror and yet you're the one complaining about back pain?"

I had to try very, very hard to resist the temptation to bite his knee, which was right next to mine. As usual, Remus was right. He must be suffering in silence, as usual, and suffering so much more than me. A small twinge in my heart set off the voice in my head again. _He's next to you, Tonks, he's soooo close…_ Remus starts slightly when he feels my hand on his back. Quickly, before he can object, I run my had across the stiff muscles and massage them, trying to rub the soreness away. For a moment, he looks completely stunned. Then he smiles his thanks, and resumes watching the house. Is it just me, or was his smile slightly forced, strained?

"Any better? Sorry I've been whining." He turns his head to reply but his eyes remain fixed on the rank back door. "I'm fine, it doesn't really hurt." His muscles flatly contradicted his words, cold and hard. Grinning evilly, I lean in closer than strictly necessary so my lips brush lightly against his ear. "Are you afraid of me?" He tries to keep the act up too when somebody smiles and frowns at the same time, one of them is a lie. And I think I know which. "No, just… Tonks, please. We're on a mission. We shouldn't be… distracted from our real purpose here."

His shoulders stiffen, and I mean the whole structure, bones, ligaments and nerves, not just the muscles. I know time's up, and two hands fiddle with my wand now. Instantly, the tension in Remus frees up, and the carefully constructed mask of calm amiableness is slipped on. He was lying. He is afraid of me and what I want. This time, the tears prickling my ears are from neither laughter or my aching body.


	4. Laughter, War and Tears

**A/N:** All right... Here is the next chapter! Sorry Tonks... I make her cry a lot more than I want to. But this is leading up to the time when she can't morph any more, so I suppose it makes sense. Usual disclaimers apply.

**Moonbugg:** spins around in little circles Thank you! I love it when people review more than once so you know that people are actually bothering to read your story. I agree completely - "Poor old Tonks".

**eleen:** Dogs can.. uh... prickle their ears?

**Loz:** Thanks for the support!

**Augurey Song:** Thanks for picking up on that. I don't actually pay a lot of attention to how I term some of my stuff, but you are absolutely right.

**FetishFemale:** Not many to go! I've been writing in most of my spare time, this chapter took quite a while with a the tweaking and whatnot. Great to see somebody who keeps up with my stories, thank you! 6

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_I hate it when you make me laugh;  
Even worse when you make me cry.__

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_"Oomph." A muffled thud is instantly joined by the sounds of people laughing. Sitting up in the drawing room, I do my best to death-glare Charlie, Bill and Remus. "Very graceful, Tonks." Bill's voice is high with suppressed laughter. "Thank you, Bill. I happen to consider this as one of my more elegant sprawls." He cracks up again, rubbing his eyes and wheezing for air. Charlie, crass as always, speaks next. "Nice knickers, Tonks. Wouldn't have thought you'd wear such a _meaningful_ colour." 

Rising from the floor like the avenging angel (and pulling up my low cut jeans to conceal my lacy black undies), I point my wand threateningly at them. "I'm an auror, and I'm not discriminate about who I choose to use spells against, Charlie. And you, Bill." They stop sniggering with, it seems, some effort. I stalk to the couch facing the fire and stare into it moodily.

"Nymphadora, it's childish to sulk." I feel my cheeks flaming. His cultured voice is amicable and polite. But did he think I was childish? Yes – that must be it. Anybody who spends half their day breaking, spilling and tripping over things and wears hair the colour of grass is, I suppose, childish. I don't want to be childish, but I do love my neon green spikes. "I'm not sulking," I say in my best I'm-a-lady-not-a-complete-moron voice, lifting my head in the ladylike way my mother tried in vain (until now) to teach me.

His laughter is unlike Charlie's or Bill's. It's not deeper or more resonant, but has a strange lilt to it, with maybe a hint of a growl. Unable to resist, I laugh along with him. Standing up and stretching out in front of the fire to warm myself more fully, I catch a fleeting glance of Charlie's face and hitch up my pants again before he can comment. Bill looks wryly amused but doesn't comment either. Remus, unsurprisingly, has his face stuck in a book. From the title – How To Go Muggle Hunting In Secret – I know it's one from the library here.

The image of Remus sneaking up behind a tottering Muggle grandma makes me laugh again, very hard. My laughter isn't very ladylike. Not at all. Punctured with squeals, odd sounds and gasps for air, it's been described to me as "a pig on a large dose of sugar and alcohol". She then went on to hint subtly that she thought I was just that. She also claims her nose has never been the same since. And I still maintain that she walked into a suit of armour. Don't see why Professor McGonnagall refused to believe me – I mean, I do it all the time!

Remus' amber eyes look gold in the dancing firelight. I've never seen that before. Correction – I've seen it lots of times, in fact, almost every night, but each time still feels like the first. And as always, it's after a minute of staring that I realise what seeing his eyes mean. He's looking at me. Yeah. No, I'm not thick… Well, OK, that's actually debateable. But that's not the point; Remus is looking at me with a half amused expression on his face while I'm gawking like somebody from Mars who'd never seen a man before.

One eyebrow is raised, half hidden in the grey-flecked strands that tumble from his hairline. His book is still held up in one of his long fingered hands, framing the bottom of his neck beautifully, and he is looking at me over the top of it. It's such a natural look, yet so elegant and graceful and… regal, maybe, in spite of his threadbare robes. Or maybe not, I've never really had a way with words like he does and half the time my mouth doesn't obey my brain. Had I ever submitted to my mother's whims and learned to draw and paint "like a proper lady should do", I would rush off right now and commit that pose to paper, frame it and hang it up on the kitchen wall.

Feeling very much like a prat, I flounced up to the couch he was sitting on and perched on the armrest right next to him. Lowering my head to the same level as his, I locked my gaze with his and made my eyes the exact same colour, just to make it confusing. It is a unique experience, actually, staring into your own eyes when it's not the mirror in front of you. "What, Remus? You're laughing at me." I know he is. The lines around his mouth are raised, ever so slightly, in that direction and so are the ones around his eyes. This is his I'm-hiding-the-fact-that-I'm-laughing-at-you-because-I'm-so-goddamned-polite look.

"I'm not." His voice is pleasant and calm with only the slightest hint of amusement. This is one hell of an actor. But it's not his fault; living with a mask is probably just the easiest way of dealing with things for him. I don't want to keep thinking about the lame excuse for a life he's been given, so I keep up the happy façade for him. "You may not be laughing openly, Remus… But you are inside. I can seeee insiiide, my dear…" I tried to make my last sentence as misty and Sibyl Trelawny-like as possible. He gives an uncharacteristic snort of laughter, and pats my head.

"Go to bed, Nymph. That's enough for today." In the friendliest way, and completely without meaning to, he can make me feel like a child again. But I'm _not_ a child, and so I lean closer until our noses are almost touching and demand, "Why? Is it too late for me to be up, Mr. Lupin?" The light-hearted sarcasm doesn't have the intended effect. He frowns, and not openly either. This man hides so much, and even after a year I still can't work out some of his masks.

I draw back and nudge his calf with one of my dangling feet. "I'm not a child, Remus." His face is unreadable, now. A small crease is between his eyebrows, another at the side of his lips, which are pressed together ever so slightly. I'll have to work out what this one means some time soon, he's been wearing it quite a lot lately. When he speaks, his voice betrays no emotion whatsoever – to anybody listening (i.e. Charlie and Bill) we were just two good friends enjoying some light banter.

"But you may as well be, you know. You are the youngest one on our team, and, well, I can't help but feel that way. You're 13 years younger than I am, and I'm not the oldest here." There he goes again. Sometimes I almost lose all hope of breaking through his shields. But no, I can't. Nymphadora Tonks gets what she wants unless she gets seriously injured in the attempt. And Remus wouldn't injure anybody, so I'm not giving up any time soon.

"Go get some rest, N'Dora, you have night watch after work tomorrow." Does he know how patronising he is? "You need to as well, you know, Remus. You have night watch with me." He does, and his face is the hidden-surprise one. I know I have it with him because, after some wrangling and making up excuses with Mad-Eye, I managed to make sure that we were always on the same night shift. Heh.

"But you, unlike me, have work tomorrow as well. I, unlike you, can always sleep during the day." I seriously contemplate pouring his mug of tea over his head. But he would probably just wave his wand and restore everything to its former state, and send me up to bed for being naughty, without even changing the tone of his voice. I pout, and direct my gaze downwards onto his book. It has a moving diagram of a wizard dropping down from a tree branch onto a Muggle on a horse.

"You know, Remus, I would have thought I was more interesting than a Muggle-hunting book. Anyway, I don't _want_ to go to bed." _Without you_, is the part I wisely refrain from saying. I don't want him to choke to death on tea right now. His eyes glint with either amusement or irritation, and he turns to me with a calm, resigned face. "Do you want me to tuck you in?" I reach for his mug, but on the way to his hair I change my mind. Not wanting to pick it up and put it down like a moron, I take a few sips. I decide that tea is actually quite nice.

Remus is now wearing his politely-confused face. I sigh dramatically. "All right, I'll go to bed. Come and tuck me in." The snigger behind me alerts me to the presence of Charlie and Bill, who I'd totally forgotten about. I'm pretty sure the sound came from Charlie, so it's his head that the mug flies to and spills its contents over. When the empty mug comes sailing back, I put it onto the side table and drag Remus up and towards the door with me. He is now wearing his politely-bewildered face. As we walk past the couch the two Weasleys are sitting on, I see the flick of a wand one second too late.

"EEEEEH!" It would have been a spectacular, windmill-arms fall had Remus not hurriedly bent down and caught me. Pulling out my 12" weapon of mass destruction (or at least minor harassment), I point it at Charlie and prepare to assail him with a shower of slugs. Now wearing the politely-alarmed look, Remus nudges me towards the door before I aim properly and the shower falls on Bill instead. Roaring, Bill with indignation and Charlie with laughter, the two boys and I prepare to start war. Remus, caught by surprise and alone after I dart behind him for shelter, barely manages to wave his wand in time to deflect the purple pellets darting towards me. As I'm sheltering behind him, he is in the line of fire and shields both of us. Smart Tonksie.

It continues while I pull Remus towards the door by the back of his robes. Bill and Charlie shoot pellets at us and conjure shields in turn, while Remus holds his shield charm and I shoot slugs and pellets towards the two boys. For the finale, small birds shoot out of my wand and fly towards them. I slam the door before their falcon can follow us. Collapsing in laughter, I would have fallen again if Remus hadn't caught me. His politely-dazed look makes me laugh even harder. "Come on then, Remus. Bedtime, remember…"

Fifteen minutes later, Remus is tucking in the ends of my sheets neatly. It won't do any good as I sleep like a hyperactive bunny, but I can't be bothered telling him. I'm also miserable, the laughter from the war downstairs gone. Not that I had really expected anything else, but the harsh reality of Remus treating me like he's still babysitting a 5 year old is slightly… extremely… off putting. "Night, Dora." He leaves the room unceremoniously, stopping only to extinguish the candles with his wand.

Have I really regressed into childhood? Remus hasn't called me Dora since I _was_ a 5 year old that he _was_,in fact, babysitting. Slowly, my neon green spikes wilt and become a mopey brown. The Grand Plan isn't working. He's meant to see me as an adult, not a little kid. Men don't fall in love with little kids, they fall in love with grown-up _women_. Damn. Maybe letting him tuck me in has really pushed me more towards the fatherly-interest realm and away from the romantic-interest one. Damn, damn, damn… A single tear rolls down my cheek, but I don't move to wipe it away because I want to keep the blankets exactly the way he left them.

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I'm afraid that it will be about another week before I can get the next chapter up. I'm drowning in homework.. Save me!


	5. Here and Not Here, When He's Gone

**A/N:** Just one more step to go to finishdom! I like this storey but I have to say I'm glad this is almost over... Will be working on Fading Away as soon as this one's finished, promise )

**Augurey Song:** Thanks for the comments, and good luck with your guy!

**FetishFemale:** Homework sucks beyond suckdom. But it's finally over, for now anyway... Exams in four weeks though (

**MutantJediBauer:** Glad I gained an accidental reader... Not too fussy which way I get readers anyway, but it's nice when they drop me a note. Roughly 2.5 of the readers of this storey review, I think.

**Elf771:** Here is more! I really liked writing that chapter too, a bit of fun before all the glum stuff in this one and the next.

**Nimthiriel:** Thank you, it took a while for the Remus description to sound both true and Tonks-like.

**Moonbugg:** Yay! Thanks for sticking with this story and for reviewing the other one. Which will get updated in, um, 2 weeks or something. Unless I work on it tonight.

**eleen:** Yeah, I thought Remus reading a Muggle-Hunting book was pretty cute too )

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**_I hate it that you're not around,  
And the fact that you didn't call._**_

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_I'm alone now. Staying in No. 12 is hell, because every time I walk past the drawing room, I expect to see Remus gazing out the window. Every time I go into the library, I expect to see him sitting on one of the moth-eaten armchairs, poring over a book. Every time I trip on the doorframe and fall into the kitchen, I expect to feel his arms around me, catching me and holding me safe. Did I mention that I've moved into his bedroom? Because that special Remus-y smell is all I have left of him, now that he's gone to scout out a feral pack. Greyback's, to be more precise. 

Sometimes, waking up in the morning is a very strange thing. After my dreams and waking to that incredible Remus-y smell, I can almost imagine that everything's all right. That the war is over, that he loves me, and that I'll wake up with him next to me every morning. Then, when I move, I realise there is no-one with me in this huge, four poster bed and no-one has been because the other side of the bed is cold. The visions of holding a beautiful, brown haired and scarred man in my arms were only dreams.

When Remus is here, my thoughts revolve around how much I want to be with him. Now that he isn't, they revolve around how much I want him to be. It's awfully lonely in this huge place all by myself. After I offered to stay so long ago, I never really left. And then all of my stuff gradually came from my flat to my room here with me. When one day Remus pointed out to me, laughingly, that I had more of my things here than at home, I finally decided to move in officially. And now that I've gone and done that, I don't have any other place to go. I don't have any place to go to escape the memories.

Somebody always has to be at No. 12. For security, and in case something happens and a person is urgently needed. After all, it's the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. Sometimes Molly and Arthur to come, because it's a more convenient pad than the Burrow for anything they need to do in London. They stay for a few days usually, and in those days I'm torn between my window-side vigil, waiting for owls bearing news or a letter from him, and running from the house to get away from it all.

In the end, after countless hours of waiting when I know nothing will come, I turn my back to No. 12 and walk as far away as I can. Grimmauld Place brings up memories of the times Remus and I ventured to take Padfoot out for a short trot around the square. In those few, free hours, the huge black dog would bounce happily and pounce on any moving object in his field of vision. I know Remus is haunted by that ghost too, because the two of us no longer take the precaution of apparating into the shadows further down the road but straight to the patch of grass in front of No. 12. We don't want to ever see again the drab street Sirius once bounded along.

Only once did I make the mistake of going to the small park 15 minutes away. This place is full of ghosts too, though perhaps Remus enjoys them because I have, before, caught what seemed like his scent by the swings. In the two times we brought Sirius here, we sat on the swings, talking and laughing while Sirius stretched his cooped up legs. We used to throw a stick as far or as high as we could, and laugh at the massive dog's pounces and snatches. While waiting for him to bring the stick back, we would talk. Not about the war, not about the order. Just ordinary things, as though we were ordinary people who had no idea of the war descending on us, trapping and involving all of us no matter how we tried to free ourselves.

The one time I went back to the park, a few weeks ago now, I sat on the swing I'd sat on before. When I closed my eyes, I could see Sirius leaping happily amongst the gorse. When I opened them, I could hear Remus' voice, on the right, like he was on the swing with me, but when I turned to look it faded and there was only a worn, plastic seat painted an optimistic yellow but graffitied and vandalised so that it was more black than yellow. Blink – Sirius. Blink – Remus. Close – Sirius. Open – Remus.

Finally, I tried to sit still and empty out all emotion, like we had to do for occlumency in Auror training. It worked at first – there was nothing but a blissfully empty blackness in my mind. Then, I could have sworn there was the feeling of a rough, warm paw on my knee, and a strong, long-fingered hand on my shoulder. Unable to stand any more, I apparated straight back to No. 12, not caring enough to check for any passers-by. Ignoring Molly's calls, I ran straight up back to Remus' room which had become my room, and cried my heart out on a pillow which I tried to pretend was Remus. Didn't work though – I'll bet Voldemort starts taking belly dancing lessons before Remus becomes un-thin enough to feel even remotely soft and pudgy like his pillow.

So why am I here again? I don't know. Cracked cement stares sullenly back at me, my crossed feet dangling under the swing seat. _It's so good to see him happy like this again… Well, I can't really say they're my style but I do know a little about them… I feel very deeply for Arthur if he has had to listen to that every Christmas since they got engaged. _A heavy paw on my knee, a soft nose nudging my calf, warm breath on my thighs. The memories of Remus and Sirius come, all sound and sight and so real I don't want to let go. I don't want to remember that I've had no word from Remus for more than a month, and won't see him for a long time. I don't want to remember that it's been even longer since I've seen Sirius, and that I will never, ever see his gaunt smile again.

_Crack_. A sound, like a soft whip-lash rends through the dusk air and I'm in front of the expanding front of No. 12 again. Not waiting to hear remonstrations for waking Mrs. Black again, or concerned calls from the kitchen or the drawing room, I run straight for the one little niche I've made for myself in this brooding house. Remus' smell lingers comfortingly in the room as I climb into the bed and make myself a nest, with me and the pillow in the middle.

It's no good imagining that the pillow is Remus any more. The only way of reconciling me to the white, stuffed thing is if it suddenly turns into Remus. I stare at it. Nothing happens. "Damn you stupid thing!" It was meant to be a mutter, but I'm sure my unnaturally high tones have rung out through the entire house. "Why can't you be Remus? Why can't you be anything but a stupid pillow? I don't want a pillow! I want Remus!" With that, I throw it angrily to the ground, curl up tighter and start crying into my knees. They're a lot harder than the pillow.

I can feel Remus' hands on my back, comforting me, on my shoulders, trying to pull me up. Is it really this bad? I can't have progressed into full-on hallucinations, can I? I sigh and mutter again. "Why can't you be here, Remus? I can't believe I'm having full-on hallucinations… Again." A small sound, like a choked chuckle, comes from behind me and I immediately try to sit up. I say try, because a few inches up, my head comes into contact with another one. And from the pain at the point of contact on my head and the muffled "oomph" I hear behind me, I'm starting to think that maybe this isn't a hallucination after all.

Whirling around, I see Remus perched on the bed at the edge of my nest, rubbing his jaw where a purple bruise was starting to form. "Remus!" My voice is high and squeaky and it comes out as more of a squeal than a word, but he smiles all the same and I knock him over when I fling myself onto him for a hug. That's when the smile wavers a little. And that's when I realise that we're actually friends, not lovers, and everything in my head which said otherwise had been a dream.

But he hugs me back nonetheless, then tries to sit up. I scramble off him quickly so he can, and examine him more closely. He's lost weight, marked signs of illness and new scars adorn his face. And like always, he makes no mention of his own sorry state and peers at me in a concerned way. "Is something wrong, Nymphadora? Your hair…" I can't see it and reach back to tug a strand in front of my eyes. It's a plain brown. I wonder if Remus has noticed that it's the exact same shade as his. My eyes are a darker shade of his golden-amber, because I couldn't bear to look in a mirror and see his eyes every time. Yet my appearance has been leaning more and more towards his, consciously or otherwise.

"Hair? I just… fancied a change?" The look I receive is the all-right-I-know-you're-lying-but-I'm-too-polite-to-demand-the-truth one. Concentrating very, very hard, I imagine the pink spikes he's used to seeing. It takes so much energy to change just this, and I almost flop back onto the bed afterwards. He notices, but again is too damned polite to probe. "Anyway," I continue in my best attempt at a breezy voice, "why have you come back earlier?" Suddenly, I'm very aware of various articles of _my_ clothing in _his_ room. "Umm… I… would have moved back into my own room if I knew you were coming. And we didn't have any owls or anything, so I thought you were still coming back next month or something like that and I'm really sorry about using your room but I just…"

Taking a much needed breath, I blush profusely as he glances around the room, no doubt catching sight of a pile of spare underwear I had thrown onto his desk. Looking back at me with a serious face, as if he hadn't just seen evidence that I wear underwear with moving cartoon dragons and hippogriffs, he speaks again. "The job took less time than I anticipated. I was able to find Greyback's pack very easily, they weren't trying to conceal themselves in any way, really. I don't think there's any chance of swaying any of them, but I'll go in and have a try anyway. And I found a few other rogue packs, I'll be going in a few days to see if I'd have any chance with them… Sorry about not sending any news, but I was undercover most of the time and I didn't want to attract any attention."

I nod silently, knowing this. I had known he would not be able to send anything while on this mission since before he went, yet I had still spent countless hours waiting at the window for a letter. His voice is hoarse, and from the small travelling haversack I can see he's only just got here. "Are you tired? Do you want any tea?" He looks so tired he would probably go straight to sleep without the customary pre-bedtime tea. It was a habit I had picked up, actually, mostly so we could have a few minutes together before going up to sleep. Plus he tea wasn't really all that bad.

"I had some when I came in, I've only just come here. Actually, I was shaving when I heard you come in." I made a _tsk_ noise and tapped his jaw where I could see shaving cuts, I've never seen him with any before. Smiling sheepishly at me, he absently ran his fingers over a cut. "I guess living off the land has slightly degraded my shaving skills. First shave in 5 weeks, as a matter of fact." Five weeks for Remus, living off the land – cooking what he could catch or scavenge on a campfire – while I had been in a house, living on either takeaway or Molly's food.

It's not just the food either – I thought I'd never witness this, but Remus is in need of a bath. Doing my best to dispel visions which rose up in my mind, I sniff in his scent lightly, leaning forward. Mixed with forest and dirt, the chocolate and books are still there. "Are you going to take a bath or sleep now?" I ask the question bluntly, as is my style, hoping it's the latter. If he takes a bath, he would make me wait out here. If he doesn't, he just might let me stay.

"Well," Remus murmurs quietly, "I probably am in dire need of a wash, but I think I may just go straight to sleep." Before I can stop myself, the words come tumbling out of my mouth – "Oh, good." I _know_ my face has just turned completely pink. I _know_ it. He raises an eyebrow quizzically, and I notice a small cut on his left eyebrow. "Can I stay with you?" I blurt out, staring at the cut and trying very hard not to meet his eyes. Slowly, cringing, I wait for the horrified expression.

To my intense relief, it doesn't come. He simply looks at me with a strange, tired expression. This is one of those so-far-untranslated faces. Must work out soon. "If you would like to." Forgetting how tired he must be, I bounce happily off the sheets and draw the blankets back for him. He smiles slightly, and slides straight in after taking off his cloak. I bounce back onto the bed, making it wobble slightly, and curl up on top of the covers next to him. "Sleep tight, Remus." I know _I_ will.


	6. Love, Not Hate

**A/N: **All right! This is finally done. Sorry for the long, long break - my muse ran away and then when it came up we started having major internet problems.

Kudos to everybody who's read this, and a very, very big thank you to everyone who reviewed. Passes around choc-chip cookies

Here's to Remus and Tonks!_

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**But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you;  
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.**

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"Are you all right, dear? You look a bit… colourless, today." I smile at Molly, wishing that I had not met her as soon as I stepped into the doorway of No. 12. "I'm fine, Molly, I've just got a bit of a cold, I think." Sometimes I'm quite surprised at the extent of my acting skills – the cheerful, bright voice sickens me with its sincerity.

"All right then, dear." Molly bustles off with the high-speed efficiency and motherliness that characterises her. I go upstairs, and she goes down. I head for the loneliness of Remus' room which has half become mine in his absence, and she for the three members of her family assembled in the kitchen.

I can avoid mirrors. I can look away from shop windows. I can wash everything by feel, not sight. But there's no way around the truth Molly gave me – I'm colourless. And avoiding it makes it no better. My hair is his brown, my skin his sick paleness after a full moon, my eyes a darker shade of his amber-gold. I love being a metamorphmagus, being able to change myself. So what happens when I can't?

There's anger, there's confusion, and there is some degree of hate. A war brings all three of them, but I still go and add my own anyway. My mother was right - I could never time anything properly. It's the middle of a war, and I've lost my powers over the only man who could resist my particular brand of argument for months. The only person more stubborn than I am.

Somehow, I can survive. Living in the place where he constantly was, walking paths we once walked together. Now, doing everything we used to do as a couple alone. I mean, we never really had anything going… But it was a fact that whenever Remus had night duty, so did I; whenever it was the day of a full moon, I would be the one who would stay with him. Nobody ever thought that we were anything more than good friends, and that was pretty much the truth.

But there's no denying that we fit together so perfectly. Hang on… No, this is still me. I haven't turned into some sappy romantic love-sick puppy thing. Well, anyway, it's sort of like we're yin and yang. He's the quiet, upright gentleman, and I'm the weird, noisy girl. We're so different, but we click somehow… Actually, I take back what I said just then. I do seem to have turned into some sappy romantic love-sick puppy thing after all. Gah. No wonder he doesn't like me.

I really don't know why I'm doing this… If this had been one of the crushes I'd had at school, I would have breezed over it easily. Boys came and boys went back then, as quickly as mice run from Mad-Eye. Well, maybe not that quickly. There was one guy that lasted a whole week, actually. But he was nothing, I repeat – nothing – compared to Remus. Ah, maybe that's it. I seem to have put my finger on the problem. I can't get over it because I don't just like him, I love him.

Let's see… What did I look like the last relatively normal day we had together? I'm pretty sure that was a Thursday. And two months ago, Thursdays were my stripy hair days. Ooh, I think I remember. It was a row of red, then a row of blue, then one of red, then blue, then red, then blue, then a ring of gold around the edge. Yep, that's it. And I'd been so disgruntled at the new Auror policies that I'd decided to go partying Muggle style… Which means I was probably wearing blue dragon-hide cut-offs and a ripped, tie-dyed oxford shirt.

Tall, handsome, almost-middled aged greying man being tackled-hugged in the street by what could best be described as a colour explosion crossed with a tornado. Yep, we did get a few stares. He didn't seem to mind though… Until I knocked the two of us into a wall and almost gave him a concussion. Hang on; he didn't seem to have been angry then, either. Sigh. He's an angel. I can almost feel what could be described as the ancestor of happiness.

Wait… What's that? I can feel it again! I can… Oh, damn. It's gone again. But I could have sworn, the tips of my hair were almost noticeably pink this time… All these memories are doing me good, I think. Almost getting my powers to the threshold they'd been at when I was 3. Yep. Great going, dumbo. Eck. If Dawlish found out about my now unpredictable and uncontrollable changes, I'd be skinned. Then stuffed back into my hide, chucked to Scrimgeour, and skinned again. I love Kingsley.

No, not in that way. Well, not at all, actually. But I do owe him one. Or two. Or several million, as a matter of fact. He's an angel too. Oh, man… My life is just so completely stuffed up right now. I might as well jump through the veil and have it done with. At least Sirius has a sense of humour… No, I didn't mean that. I miss him a lot. Yes. I do. I just… Miss Remus more. Gah.

I wish I could hate him. I wish I could even just be a tiny smidgeon angry with him. Whoever said love swings to hate easily was a deluded loser who'd never felt either of those things. Come on, girl… Pull yourself together. Hang on a tic. Did I just ruffle my own hair? Sirius, begone. I miss you, I did _not_ ask you to possess my hand. Oh, Merlin… Everything is just so completely, totally, utterly and inexplicably messed up all of a sudden.

There's a slight clamour downstairs. Not loud, just loud enough to pass into Remus' room at the back of the house, and also just loud enough to wake up the hag in the painting. FILTHY, DIRTY THING! UNWORTHY TRAITOR! _ANIMAL, BEAST_! What? Animal? Beast? There's only one person I've ever heard her call that… And…

While I hurtle down the stairs, I briefly consider pretending to be angry with him. I could put on a stormy face, and see how he takes the change from lover to hater. But somehow, I know he'll see through it. I've never bee able to hate him, even in the scungiest pits of despair, and I never will be. Why? The moment he catches sight of my flailing arms coming down the stairs, the moment his brow softens with relief, the moment he catches me gently before pushing me up and away again tell me why. His I-love-you-too-but-I'll-never-admit-it attitude just a little working on.


End file.
